


Semicolon

by WordNerd1977



Category: Original Work
Genre: Analogy, Depression, Flash Fic, Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18864193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordNerd1977/pseuds/WordNerd1977
Summary: I fight for every breath as I try to simply stay afloat, lost and alone in dark waters.





	Semicolon

I know how to swim, every movement had been encoded deep in muscle memory by hundreds of hours of practice. I learned to pull and kick through the water at an early age, using correct forms for optimal efficiency. Even so, I find myself slowing down as exhaustion seeped deep into my bones. I try to float, to simply exist in the water — I used to be adept at that, floating, too good really, because it meant no one around noticed as I struggled. But now the water pulls at me; my body weighed down by my clothing. It’s terrifying to feel so utterly helpless.

 

I have forgotten how I got here. I've long since lost all sense of time and direction; alone in dark, open waters, with no land in sight. I have no idea how long I’ve been treading water — every muscle in my body burning just to keep my face above the surface —  but it feels that I’ve been nearly-drowning through every phase of my life, that there isn’t a single memory left untarnished by this fight to survive.

 

The physical agony of constantly choking and mental torment of gasping for every watery breath is unbearable. The fear of dying becomes less frightening than going on this way. The only apparent answer to end the torture is to stop resisting. Still, it takes a seemingly-eternal amount of time to let go: hours? days? years? I tap into the dregs of my energy reserves to surge upward, filling my lungs with oxygen before letting myself slip fully beneath the surface. My mind mocks me for desiring that final breath, for savoring the feel of it flowing through me. The ecstasy is short lived as I sink deeper; the need for air begins as an unpleasant ache in the core of my chest, quickly blazing outward, my throat convulsing and my body twitching. It’s time.

 

The first rush of water floods my lungs and primal panic in the core of my brain activates every muscle fiber to fight the threat; every synapse fires to process my way out of this dire situation. And so my body flails, battling my mind’s decision to just let go.

 

The pain is excruciating, but impossible to scream through. It intensifies exponentially until finally fading away, leaving me numb, and I realize how thoroughly tired I am. It’s time to sleep. The last sight I see as my eyelids close is moonlight rippling through the leagues of water above me.

 

I slowly surface, warm and dry, drawing in a slow, deep breath of cool, sterile air. Opening my eyes, my foggy brain confused at being tucked tight into a firm bed in a dimly lit room. I see a woman gazing out of the window, arms crossed, holding herself tight.

 

She turns to me and smiles softly. “Your story isn't over."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Mental health and depression are very real. For any of you dealing with depression, your feelings are valid even if your thoughts have turned against you. I understand. I battle it every single day. I did give up, I gave in to the self-loathing, the ruminations, the darkness that ate at me every moment. I was too ashamed to reach out. I felt that it meant I was weak, so I tried to deal with it alone. The irony is, getting help to fight my own mind was the most difficult thing I have ever done. There is no shame in depression, in bipolar disorder, in anxiety. Reach out. Get help. There really is goodness and happiness left in this world. And you are needed.


End file.
